


The Kraken Lamb

by Feral_Fic_Writer



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Play (Kind of), Hurt/Comfort, Lactation, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Pet Play (kind of), Physical Abuse, Rehumanization (eventually)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Fic_Writer/pseuds/Feral_Fic_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reek finds safety in an unexpected savior.</p><p> Walda finds finds a new "lamb" to replace the child she recently lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ablutions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Touch of Lightfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175906) by [VagrantWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter). 



> So I have been wracking my brain to find a way to comfort Reek, because that's just my inclination. 
> 
> And after reading a recent Lightfic piece by Vagrant Writer where Walda comforts a recovering slave Theon; I realized I'd been looking in all the wrong places. Now that I have found Reek's advocate, of course I had to charge ahead with a chapter.
> 
> Despite the fact this will have only have rare moments of violence and I don't see anything sexual happening between Reek and Walda (maybe?), this may turn out to be one of the weirdest and most messed up things I've taken on to write. 
> 
> And that's saying a lot.
> 
> Also, I'd like to add that the voice of Reek in this piece has been greatly influenced by depictions of him in the works of Yourwastedspace and Nanjcsy.

Looking up from where he knelt in the hallway, Reek cringed back as one of the Fort’s maids set a new pail of water before him.

She didn’t speak to him, none of them did. Why would they? He was baser than his master’s hounds. He could feel her disgust just having to be so close to him. His chest dropped lower to the floor in response.

As he watched her pick up the pail he’d been using and walk away, the sense of despair he carried within him, _always_ , renewed itself. The hall was so long and he’d barely scrubbed a third of it. He still had the stairs to do too and if he hadn’t finished by the time his master was done with his meeting…

Reek nervously wrung the soiled cloth gripped between his damaged hands.

Pale eyes shifted over and he whimpered at the steam coming off the new bucket, grieving the loss of the other. The last one had just finally reached a temperature where it wasn’t agony to dip the scrub brush or cloth into it.  Like the others he’d been brought, he had no doubt the water in this one was just below boiling and his master had given him very specific instructions before leaving him to his task.

_No pouring it out, Reek. You must dip the brush in and out before you scrub. The cloth as well, after you wipe. Show me. And don’t think I won’t know if you cheat once I’m gone._

Staring down at the hot, red flesh of his hands, it hurt Reek almost as much as his steamed skin that his Master thought he would cheat. He knew far better than to lie...

_Ever._

Master Ramsay saw everything.

Untangling the cloth from his few fingers, Reek picked up the brush again with a trembling hand. Gritting the remaining teeth he had, he bit back his scream, plunging the brush into the bucket just like his master had instructed.

* * *

Three new buckets later and he’d made small progress. He wasn’t _trying_ to fail, quite the opposite. But it was difficult when his hands hurt so badly he could barely hold his tools.

Shifting on the floor, beneath the mounting weight of his hopelessness, Reek tried to find a position that alleviated the terrible ache in his knees. Tomorrow the tender skin there would be black with bruise, but that wouldn’t be the worst of it: the stones’ cold had crept up the marrow of his thighs to nest in his hip sockets. It made him hope his master would send him back to the kennels when he finished with him tonight. That would be so much safer. Ben wouldn’t cotton him standing and Reek doubted he’d be able to.

_Safer…_

_Safe..._

Tears filled Reek’s eyes. It was one of those words he still had, but knew he shouldn’t.

There’d been a lot of these at the beginning. Now he’d managed to exorcise most of them from his mind. Holding too many was dangerous and it pleased his master (as much as it was possible to ever please Ramsay) to have his pet simple. Still, there were certain words Reek couldn’t seem to eradicate and this was one.

_Safe..._

A dangerous one.

It made him unfaithful: to consider what it would be to live without his terrible fears, his terrible failures. The thought of such a place, a space that didn’t hold some kind of pain; it was an impossible concept. But he wished for it desperately, regardless.

Even if just for a day.

Then a noise caught his ears. Reek’s head shot up. His whole body tremored like a hare beneath the hawk’s shadow. It was as if the universe had heard his silent plea only to answer with its usual malice. Voices drifted up the stairs and Reek’s breath ceased even as his heartbeat accelerated.

Suddenly he craved Ramsay and his thoughtful punishments.

He dropped the brush and pressed his belly to the stones, hissing as the hard, cold kissed new wounds. If he could just stay low enough, still enough, they might not see him. It was a child’s thought, and fruitless. Hard eyes fell on him immediately the moment  two of Ramsay’s Boys crested the stairs.

“What have we here?”

Reek lowered his eyes to the stone beneath him as Damon strode forward. Skinner drew up alongside.

“Is it an advance or a demotion to go from Ramsay’s pet to his maid?”

Reek’s breath hitched within his chest, even in the midst of his terror he couldn’t help but notice how filthy both men’s boots were. They’d left dark muddy tracks on the floor behind them. He was crying already but this only made him sob harder.

“Doesn’t really matter either way, ‘cause no matter which, it’ll still be _Reek._ And there’s no improving on that,” Damon chuckled. “So what did you do this time, Bitch, to merit this punishment?”

Reek tensed. He never knew if he was actually supposed to answer Damon or not when the man spoke to him.

“Well?”

_So, an answer then…_

But how? Not that it mattered, he could never figure out the right thing for anyone other than his master these days. And even there he still too often got it wrong.

He opened his mouth, but despite his determination to be concise, Reek found himself immediately tripping into his unfortunate babbling.

“Not bad… Good boy… Reek’s a good boy... Meek Reek… Master’s teaching Reek.”

What exactly Master Ramsay was teaching him with this exercise in floor scrubbing, Reek couldn’t remember at the moment. This panicked him even more than Damon and Skinner because Ramsay would want to know if he’d learned his lesson when he returned.

As his fragmented mind spun to recall, he all but forgot about the terror towering over him. Lost in his frantic reverie, he jumped several inches when Damon spoke again.

“You buy that, Skinner?”

“Nah… Little shit’s lying, I’m sure.”

There was danger in the voices above. Reek would have pressed himself lower to the ground if he could have. His too thin body began to rock and a quiet whine filled his throat.  As much as it terrified him, he hesitantly lifted his eyes, begging Damon and Skinner to believe him.

“N-not… Reek’s a good boy. Ple… Sorry… Sorry…

“Good boy. Ramsay’s Reek.”

“How can you be a ‘good’ boy when you can’t even do a simple chore properly. I mean look at this floor…” Damon looked over Reek’s shoulder down the drying corridor.

Heart fluttering in his chest, Reek turned his head to follow the man’s gaze seeing only the carefully polished stones that stopped at the door to Ramsay’s chambers.

Quickly, Skinner had caught on to this game. “Yeah, look it, here!” He stomped down the hall, filth falling from his boots, muddying the places in the stone where water still pooled.

Damon was fast on his heels adding more to the mess. “And what about this, you filthy little bugger?” He pointed to an invisible patch of dirt, laughing as he caught the horrified look on the pet’s face. “I swear, this floor’s almost as dirty as you are.

“Some job you’re doing. Ramsay’s going to be pissed at what a sty you’ve made of his hall, no doubt.”

Though he’d known this was bound to happen, seeing his work of the last several hours undone as the two Bastard’s Boys marched up and down, laughing, within Reek something already desparately frayed snapped. He curled in on himself, skinny arms crossed over his head, and began to quietly wail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And for accompanying me on another peculiar exploration.
> 
> As always, I give no guesses as to when this will be updated, though I have half the second chapter written already.
> 
> Comments and helpful feedback are both welcome and appreciated.


	2. Interventions

Unable to bear staying in her chambers any longer, Walda meandered the Fort's halls. The empty nursery too painful a reminder today.

_Everyday._

It had been two weeks since she’d returned to her husband, a month since their son… her child… had died. Sending them away for their "safety" had done them no good in the end.

Grateful she’d managed to lose her attending maids, Walda brought one hand to her wet eyes, the other pressed to her chest. Despite the loss of her little suckling, she was still making milk and the fullness ached terribly, but it was the pain that resided in her chest beneath this that was far worse.

She'd just turned a corridor when a terrible sound pricked her ears. Walda gasped when her breasts leaked in response to the cries. Before she even fully understood what she was doing, her small feet propelled her prosperous frame speedily down the hall towards the sound of the squall.

The sight that met her stopped her, fast in her tracks. There in the middle of a filthy hallway was her stepson’s simple attendant, Reek, curled up and writhing on the floor in a puddle of water. An empty bucket lay on its side beside him.

Visible steam rose up from the young man’s soaked, tattered clothes, though it was almost obscured by the legs of two of Ramsay’s ruffians. The large men stood over Reek, kicking the crying boy back and forth between them, ordering him to “shut up!”

How Damon and Skinner heard her gasp over the sound of Reek’s sobbing was a mystery, but they did. Both turned and stood frozen a moment at her horrified expression.

Damon was the first to react.

“Milady, I’m sorry you had to see this. Ramsay’s pet was in need of correction.” His eyes searched the hall behind Walda looking for her maids. “Please, let me get you back to your ladies. I’m sure they’re worried about you.”

If there was a warning in Damon’s tone, Walda didn’t register it. Her eyes remained fixed on the huddled mess on the floor. Reek had rolled over, gasping, crawled out of the boiling puddle only to collapse down beside it.

“Burn… Burn… Heat streak Reek…” He pulled at his soaked clothes, the heat trapped in the cloth a terror against his blistering skin. “Bad boy… Burn… Sorry… Sorry…”

Ignoring Damon, Walda pushed past him. She scurried over to Reek. When she started to kneel down, she was stopped by a large hand on her forearm. She frowned and looked up at a heavily blushing Skinner.

“Forgive me, Milady. But it’s not right for you to lower yourself for the likes of him.”

She hesitated, not because of Skinner’s words, but because she didn’t really need to kneel down to get a good sense of the writhing boy’s condition. The scald was visible on the bare skin of Reek’s neck from collarbone to the base of his jaw.  And there was another place too where his shirt had ridden up. Between this and Reek’s thin, low-slung trousers, the skin of his scarred, starvation-rounded belly was visible, the flesh a deep, angry-red.

“The likes of him?” Walda pulled her arm away from Skinner like his touch was diseased.c“Please tell me what did he do to merit this?” Her dark eyes flashed between Damon and Skinner. “And don’t say he spilled that bucket on himself.”

“Uh... “ Damon was at loss. He’d not seen Roose’s wife like this before. And Walda was Roose’s, so he knew they needed to be careful. Not that he imagined Roose would care what happened to his bastard’s pet.

But if his lady was upset…

“He was supposed to clean the floor and all he’s done is made it filthier, Milady.”

Damon’s brows rose, usually Skinner left things to him but he was glad for words and ran with them. “How can he get something clean when he's so dirty himself? He was just making things worse.

“We thought a little dunk would help, clean him up. Make things easier.” Damon rubbed the back of his head seeing his spin had yet to shift Walda’s stony expression. “Honestly, we’d no idea the water was so hot.”

The word set Reek crying loudly again. “Hot… Hot… Hurt… Heat Reek, Beat Reek… Sorry… So sorry… Hurts…”

Walda crossed her arms over her chest. While she did it to cover the fact that Reek’s cries had her soaking through her dress, the sterner appearance it gave her had a definite effect on Ramsay’s men. She snorted in disgust.

“You big ones, picking on him who’s half your size and a child’s mind.” 

Damon and Skinner both had enough of a sense of self-preservation to drop their heads just slightly.

Turning to Skinner, Walda pointed a chubby finger at him. “You’re right. I’ll not lower myself to him, but you will. You’re to pick him up now and bring him to my chambers.

Then she looked over and cast a hard eye on Damon. “And you… You go fetch the maester and send him to my rooms.”

Walda lifted a hand before Damon could respond. “And when you’re done, the two of you come back here and clean up…" She gestured down to the muddy boot print beside Damon, clearly the same size as his shoe. “Clean up _his_ mess.

"If Lord Ramsay had him scrubbing, I’m sure he’d be displeased to come back and find things in such a state.”

With a not quite silent curse, Damon turned  and headed off to find the physician.

Skinner’s instructions hadn’t been any more complex, but they were definitely proving more difficult. The moment he reached for Reek, Reek began crying louder. He yelped like a beaten hound and tried to wiggle away when Skinner touched him.

“Hold still, you little bastard!” Skinner growled clamping a hand around a thin ankle.

“Really?”

“Sorry, Milady…” Skinner burned with humiliation, too used to talking to Reek this way to remember he had company.

He used the hand on Reek’s ankle to propel himself up the shaking boy’s body. Clamping a hard grip on the scruff of Reek’s neck, he leaned in and whispered in his ear, hoping to hell Walda wouldn’t be able to make out his words.

“I’m going to pick you up, you little shit, and you better be one hell of a _good boy_.” Skinner underlined his next words with a low growl, “You already have one punishment for getting us in trouble, another coming for getting your wretched stink all over me now. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

While Walda couldn’t hear what the man said to Reek, she was pleased with it’s effect. The boy continued to cry, but much more softly. His thin body went still and pliable so he was easily lifted.

Skinner stood up and staggered a bit, expecting Reek to weigh far more than he did. A frown flashed over his face but it only lasted an instant. One arm under Reek’s knees the other supporting his shoulders, Skinner held Reek curled up against his chest. The boy trembled so violently he thought more than once he might drop him.

Walda studied the arrangement, making sure Reek was secure before they started out. Reek had his eyes pressed closed, his scalded hands held tightly against him. He was whispering a sobbed mantra.

“Good boy… Meek Reek… Good boy…  Ramsay’s Reek…

He stopped and timidly opened his eyes at the feel of a small soft hand against the tender skin of his wrist. Walda’s already broken heart shattered further seeing the terrible fear, and the terrible innocence in the overlarge blue eyes that met her own.

“Yes, you’re a good boy, Reek. A good boy.” She stroked the too-pink skin with a single finger. Tears welled in her own eyes to match the new ones rolling down Reek’s bruised, dirty cheeks.

“Now let’s go and see if we can’t help stop your hurting. Yes?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wha ha! Two chapters in a day... This is what happens when a chapter isn't 6000+ words. And when I fuck around at work and don't do what I am supposed to.


	3. Solutions

 

* * *

Upon seeing their mistress returning, Wanda’s three maids began to clamor their relief. Not entirely because she’d come back to them, but her mood had been low of late and they all knew what fate would befall them if anything happened to their lord’s wife.

The moment they realized what accompanied their lady, however, their happy sounds quickly shifted to shock. Disgust soon followed after.

“What are you thinking, Milady!” Eyre, Walda’s oldest maid’s face wore an expression of pure disbelief. “That’s Lord Ramsay’s freak!”

Not one for standing high on ceremony, normally Walda was complacent with her ladies allowing them quite a lot of leeway in their address. Glancing back over at the tremoring figure held in Skinner’s thick arms, today, however, she wasn’t having it.

“He has a name, Eyre. And, yes, I have brought Reek with me.”

Walda’s heart was weighed heavy with conviction. After all, like Eyre, she’d long felt the same about her stepson’s “pet.” Her brow furrowed studying the poor creature. Reek kept his eyes closed for most their trek and they remained so. He'd been so still the last several halls they'd traveled through she thought he might have passed out.

While this would have been a mercy, it was obvious the boy was with them and he'd heard their exchange as he now quietly chanted, “Freak Reek… Weak Reek… Ramsay’s Reek…”

Hearing his broken mumblings Walda recalled the day she’d arrived at Dreadfort, the first time she saw him, cowering next to Ramsay in the yard. Like the other residents of the Fort too, when he’d first served her in the hall, drawing close enough to pour her wine, she’d been repulsed by his odor and his trembling, damaged hands.

Given these things, and seeing the desperate way he trailed after his “master,” despite the rumors she’d heard about his ordeals, such things made it easy to ignore him. And carrying her husband’s heir, she’d had her own concerns to attend to back then.

But now… Today... After seeing his plight in the hall...

The memory of the two men kicking the scalded slave fueled her ire. She wasn’t the only one who had reparations to make. Walda addressed Skinner, her voice far bolder than she felt.

“You. Bring him in and be off!”

In truth, Ramsay’s ruffians intimidated her terribly. But she drew confidence from the fact Reek’s attacker, if he had any sense, would be as apprehensive of her husband as she was of Skinner.

She turned back to her bug-eyed maids next. “Anna, Olive, I need a tub brought in and water. Tepid… Not hot.”

“N-not hot,” Reek whimpered as Skinner carried him into chambers.

When Olive and Anna hesitated, casting unhappy glances at Reek and then each other Walda frowned at them. “Hurry!”

They scampered off, unease still clear on their faces.

Walda called out after, “we’ll need cloths for washing and drying too.” Then she turned to her remaining maid. “Eyre, get a blanket for the floor we can put under him. He’s a bit dirty.”

“A _bit_?” Eyre snorted. But seeing her mistress' serious face, she sighed and headed over to a chest.

“Then can you get him a shift? Something loose?”

Walda winced internally at her questioning commands, aware she was already shedding her strictness. Fortunately Skinner bolstered her resolve again when he set the wounded boy down atop the newly spread blanket with far more force than he needed to. Reek yelped as his bony backside collided hard with the floor.

“Easy with him!”  

Walda’s stomach twisted both at the way Reek flinched at her tone and the anger that flared dark in Skinner’s eyes. She held firm, however, only slightly softening her voice.

“You’d best get back to that hall and get things set right before my stepson returns.”

The muscles in Skinner’s tight jaw flexed, but he said nothing. Instead, he dipped his head and stepped backwards towards the doorway, all but colliding with the returning maids. They shot embarrassed, conspiratorial looks at him before darting past, basin and buckets in hand.

When Skinner had picked him up and Reek realized he was being carried away from the soiled hallway, he’d forced his eyes closed, fear crying for voice above his pain, knowing what would happen if Ramsay came and found him absent from his post.

Peeking out only occasionally to try and determine where he was being taken, traveling a too familiar hallway, despite the soft touch and the kind words by the woman, Walda, he'd been seized with the thought that they were taking him back down to the dungeon again to be dealt with.

After all, the last time a woman had touched him, teased him with any kind of comfort, was when…

He’d forced his mind away from the memory, but every step further had only increased his terror. Then they’d stopped and when he heard the women speaking, he still hadn’t been able to make himself look at where he was.

When Skinner thrust him down, however, his eyes flew open at the impact. Reek scanned the strange room quickly. It wasn’t overly ornamental, but obviously belonged to someone of import. Cowering where he’d been dropped, Reek knew as such he didn’t belong here.

No...

The dungeon, the kennels, under the table in the great hall, on the floor beside his master’s bed or under it, between Ramsay’s legs or on the end of his cock, those were the places he fit now…

His eyes dropped down to the clean blanket underneath him, the fabric so soft under the scarred soles of his feet.

_Dirty… I’m getting this fine cloth dirty…_

Though it painfully stretched his blistering skin, Reek gathered his knees to his chest. Otherwise, as much as he wanted to flee the blanket’s fleecy surface, he was too scared to move. Burned hands wrapped around the back of his neck, he began to rock back and forth in distress.

Around him he could hear the rustle of skirts, orders in a high voice, one directing the others, “put that here…” “set that there…” Reek, began to pant lightly. His chest was tight and breath hard to find.

“Eyre, go see what’s taking the maester so long, please.”

“Reek…”

At the sound of his name so kindly spoken, blue eyes shot up. Reek knew who Walda was, who she belonged to, and all too clearly his own designations. So he couldn’t understand why she’d look at him as she did. It frightened him.

He dropped his head back down.

“Ramsay’s Reek,” he sobbed, already asking for a forgiveness he didn’t expect to receive.

“Yes…” Walda said in quiet agreement to the broken youth below her. But she’d determined now that if she had her way, he wouldn’t be for much longer.

Just then Anna began pouring one of the buckets of water she’d brought into the basin. The sound of the water immediately had Reek’s attention. Seeing the remaining bucket, steam curling up from it, once more he began to quietly cry.

“Not Heat… Good boy… Not heat Reek.”

It took Walda a moment to decipher the broken syntax and realize Reek was begging her not to scald him again.

Though it took a bit of effort and was executed with far less grace than she would have liked, she crouched down. Reek curled tighter in on himself in response, hands still holding his neck, forehead all but pressed to his knees.

Considering the creature before her looked far more like a drowned rat than anything else, Walda was shocked to hear one of her mother’s endearments fall from her lips.  “No, Lamb…

“No one’s going to burn you. But I need to get you cleaned up so the maester can see where you’re hurt.”

Walda wasn’t sure how much Reek could understand, but after a long minute he slowly raised his head. Those frightened eyes, so tortured, caused something to twist, hot in her low belly. Drawing a handkerchief from the wrist of her sleeve, she leaned forward carefully.

Reek had lowered his eyes again, but it was clear he was aware of her. His breaths came quicker and whether it was from fear or from the fact his soaked clothes had now cooled, Walda could hear his teeth chatter.

Her heart ached to see how Reek turned his face, presenting his cheek to be struck, cringing tight in anticipation of a slap, even as he held himself still. He started and a broken whine escaped him when she touched the kerchief lightly to his purpled cheek to smooth away his tear tracks. Reek snuffled miserably when she shifted it over and lightly dabbed the snot from his running nose.

“Reek rhymes with leak,” he whispered in a voice so soft and hesitant Walda almost missed it.

“Yes, I suppose it does.” She kept her own voice tender as she eyed badly chapped lips and wondered how long it had been since her stepson had adequately watered his pet.

Reek’s gaze lifted; he didn’t quite look at her. It was enough though, Walda knew she had his attention at least.

“Look, Lamb...” She wondered about not calling Reek by his “given” name, but it tasted so sour in her mouth at the moment. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes and into a proper bath.”

While she wasn’t entirely sure what she expected, she was completely unprepared for Reek’s reaction. His head shot up. Eyes wide with panic, he dropped his wounded hands and cried at the pressure on them as he scrambled away from her to the farthest edge of the blanket.

It was clear he’d determined the cloth was some kind of boundary, one he wasn’t to cross. Huddling there at its limit, his rocking started up again, arms folded protectively over his head.

“N-not… not allowed. Reek rhymes with Reek… Ramsay’s reeking Reek.” He began to murmur “not allowed” over and over, each anxious utterance a plea for mercy.

“He’s not Milady…”

Walda shot a confused look over at Anna. “What do you mean?”

Roose wasn’t one to squander money on grand entourages, so while Eyre had accompanied her on her travels, Anna and Olive, long-time residents of Dreadfort had remained behind. As such, they were far better versed in her family’s habits than she was.

“Lord Ramsay doesn’t let him bathe. He likes him to stink. Everyone knows this…

"He punishes the boy if he’s not dirty enough. Hunted those who’ve tried to clean him, too.” Olive offered this with a smirk, enjoying that she knew more than her mistress.

Although she'd heard things about her stepson and his pet, Walda generally tried to avoid the court's "low talk." Having kept herself relatively sequestered then, she was appalled at this information. Nor was she immune to Olive’s smugness.

It didn’t help that since returning she had learned her husband had taken this maid occasionally while she was away. She knew she couldn’t expect Roose to be faithful, but she was much less bothered when he exercised his excess appetites on the broad-shouldered stable boys he tended to prefer. Rough lads he could use his quirt on, ride hard and put away wet.

Walda pushed her irritation with Olive aside. She’d deal with her eventually. Right now she needed to get Reek out of his clothes and into the tub to be cleaned. With far more conviction than she felt, she stared Olive down. “Well, I doubt _my husband_ would allow Lord Ramsay to hunt me.”

Looking away before she could read whether or not her maids agreed with this assertion, she turned her attention back to Reek. Scooting closer to him she leaned forward. Reaching out, Walda offered her soiled kerchief like a flag of truce.

“So you’re Ramsay’s Reek…”

Reek fell silent but but continued rocking. He peeked cautiously out from under his arms, warily eying the handkerchief as though it might jump forward and bite him at any moment.

“Y-yes… Sorry… Sorry… Ramsay’s Reek. Meek Reek.”

“And who is Lord Ramsay’s master?”

The quiet question brought Reek’s rocking to a halt. Seeing how panicked he was growing as his strained mind frantically fumbled for an answer, Walda took mercy and answered herself,

“That would be his father, Lord Bolton… Yes?”

Hearing the ruler of Dreadfort’s name spoken automatically sent a shiver down Reek’s spine. Mentions of Roose never meant anything good and anytime Ramsay spoke of his father, Reek had learned long ago, inevitably pain soon followed.

The fact Ramsay’s pet was panting again let Walda know her question was only making the poor boy more anxious. Still, she pressed forward, repeating it, waving her kerchief lightly to distract.

“Lord Bolton is your master’s master. Isn’t he? You can answer truthfully. That’s what good boys do, after all.”

Reek raised his eyes searching her face for treachery. He glanced back and forth between her and the handkerchief desperately struggling for the right answer. He was so used to his master’s games and didn’t want to be tricked again. Not right now when he hurt so terribly already.

“Good boy, Reek?”

The timidity of the question almost set Walda to crying. Never had she encountered a creature so broken, so pitiful. “Yes, you’re a good boy. And you know what the answer to my question is. Yes?”

Taking a chance, she reached forward to rub the cloth along the base of Reek’s lightly-stubbled jaw. She wondered who shaved him. Tried to hold back her own tremble at the idea Ramsay himself might be the one to do this. How frightening it would be to have to bare one’s throat before his razor-wielding hand.

_Especially…_

Her eyes flickered to Reek’s missing fingers as he slowly lowered his hands and clasped them around his bent knees now.

“Yes?”

The single word brought Walda back from her reverie. It took her a moment to realize Reek had braved an answer. Or was he merely parroting? Something in her heart rejoiced a little when he offered it again in a way that told her he understood.

“Ramsay’s Reek, L-lord Roose’s Ramsay.”

“Yes, Lamb! That’s right! Good boy!”

Her smile grew even wider when Reek lifted a tentative hand to stroke the soft cloth still held at his jaw. He seemed stunned when this wasn’t met with a slap or a scold, or her pulling away in revulsion. Instead, Walda pressed the fabric into his fingers and and asked, “And who am I?”

Reek trembled as he answered, but it was obvious to her that despite his pain and his fear, he was also all but giddy with relief at the praise.

“Lord B-Bolton’s L-lady...”

Olive and Anna had finished filling the tub and Walda could hear her maids shifting uncomfortably behind her, but she ignored them. She spoke to Reek as though he was a small child.

“Yes! Good boy again! You’re so clever. I am Lord Bolton’s Lady. His Wife. And Lord Ramsay’s step-mother. So that makes me your master’s mistress as well. Just like Lord Bolton is his master.

“So as your master’s mistress, then you should mind me over your master. Shouldn’t you?”

Reek’s mind spun with all this information. It was hard to process, hard to believe. But he couldn’t really find fault in the lady’s logic. And as terrified as he was of his master, he was even more frightened of Ramsay’s father. Besides, Lady Walda was speaking to him so sweetly and her eyes didn’t look hard at all. Just sad.

He was near petrified but these things made him want to please her terribly, to hear her call him a "good boy" again.  

“Yes?”

Reek exhaled his answer on a breath, gripping the kerchief in his hand tighter. The pain of his red, swollen fingers made him wince, but he didn’t loosen his grasp. He watched with wide, cautious eyes as Lady Walda slowly lifted her own hand away.

She sat back, a pleased expression on her face. If Reek had a tail it would have been timidly tapping his own brand of joy: so far he hadn’t answered anything wrong.

“So your master’s mistress says we should get you cleaned up. Are you going to keep being a good boy for me and do as I say?”

“Y-yes…”

His answer was just as soft as the others had been, but it didn’t have the tone of question in it this time. To underscore his determination to please, Reek rubbed the kerchief on his cheek in a scrubbing motion.

He was as shocked as Walda when this action pulled a sad giggle from her.

“Oh, Lamb, that’s lovely, but I think you’re going to need a little bit more than that. Let’s get you into that tub. Alright?”

There was barely any hesitation this time.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading and the support that has been expressed. This is a foray into relatively new territory for me and your enthusiasm has been most bolstering.


	4. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walda will not be going to the dogs in this story.

Now it had been agreed upon Reek would submit to be bathed, he and Walda faced their next hurdle.

“You’ll need to get out of those clothes then.”

“Rags more like,” Olive snickered behind her lady.

Reek still held Walda’s kerchief in one hand. His other had been nervously petting the soaked sleeve of his shirt. At these words, however, he instantly froze.

How could he have forgotten he would have to be naked for a proper bath?

_Stupid. Stupid._

He’d been so eager to please, to have Lady Bolton speak kindly to him and be the recipient of her sweet, sad smile. Reek realized now he’d crawled right into a trap. Being bared before the man who’d made him, carved him into what he was, that was still hardly bearable. But to be revealed to these others...

_Ladies…_

His hollow guts clenched and he feared he might retch.

Walda turned and shot a stern look at her maid. The young woman fell quiet and shifted uncomfortably.

“With his hands it might be difficult. Why don’t you help him, Olive.”

Glancing up, Reek saw the ill-concealed disgust on the maid's face, though she’d obediently begun moving towards him. Still staying within the confines of the blanket he cringed away as she drew closer.

“Come on now, none of that!”

At Olive's reprimand he stilled. Well, as much as he could: his whole body quivered uncontrollably with the pent up need to flee.

Reek knew the maid didn’t want to touch him. Not kindly. No one but his Master did these days, and this only infrequently. Anyone else who laid hands on him now, like Damon and Skinner, only ever did so to torment.

Besides, he had become quite adept at reading people; his miserable life depended on it. And this one, _Olive_ , held the look of someone inclined to punish him subtly now or seriously later for having to follow her mistress’ commands.

Realizing this, in a panic, his swollen fingers sought the hem of his shirt. Despite how it hurt to flex them, he grabbed the edges and began awkwardly pulling it off. Reek sputtered anxious “Can do’s,” that quickly became muffled as his head disappeared within fetid fabric.

Walda realized only too late that she shouldn’t have asked Olive to help. It was unkind to use Reek to punish her maid for her rudeness.

More than this though, she should have sent Anna and Olive away altogether. Her terrible mistake made painfully clear when Reek’s soiled shirt cleared his shoulders and the two girls started shrieking.

“By the gods, I’m going to be sick!” Olive stumbled back, clasping her hand over her mouth, but not enough to muffle her exclamation. “I’ve never seen anything so disgusting!”

Anna had gone pale. “Look he only has one nipple. He truly is a freak!”  

“If Lord Ramsay cut off his tit…” Olive’s face was equally blanched, though there were strangely hectic patches of color on her cheeks. “I bet the stories that he took the freak’s cock are true too!”

“Girls!” Walda shouted over them, drawing herself up from the floor. “Enough!”

Glancing down to measure the impact of her maids fits and her own volume on her new ward, Walda’s heart fell. She honestly hadn’t thought it was possible for Reek to make himself any smaller but he had. He cowered, curled up even more, shirt clutched tight to his chest in an effort to hide himself. But his tearful voice was the smallest thing about him by far: a sorrowful self-soothing lullaby sung by a lost child.

“Sorry… sorry… Freak… Freak Reek… Sorry… Bad boy… Sorry.”

To her mother’s instincts it was a siren’s song, luring her heart to be dreadfully dashed. But beyond these pitiful sounds, that brief glimpse of the poor boy’s body, what she’d seen of it, had wrecked her already: it was a horror.

While the volume of her maids exclamations lowered, they continued whispering to each other. Furious, Walda turned attention back on them, glad for the distraction.

“Olive, forget helping him! Go down to the kitchen and bring back some broth and some bread. Anna, get some more water! I think we’re going to need to do a few rinses.”

“And leave you alone with him, Milady?” Olive’s voice had lost its fearful pitch and had become sly all of a sudden.

Walda knew what the maid was insinuating and she didn’t appreciate it. Rather than acknowledge this, however, she kept her expression benign. It was a skill she’d become quite adept at.

“Eyre will be back shortly.” _She hoped._ “In the meantime, I doubt he’s even got the strength to stand right now; so what danger do you think he truly poses?”

Walda fought not to cringe at her own words, considering also that Olive’s earlier coarse comment might be true. “Or do you think I would do something untoward with such a low, suffering creature?”

It pained her to say these things about Reek in front of him, though he seemed beyond hearing at the moment. But it was clearer to Walda the danger Olive truly posed and she needed to put the maid in her place.

To her credit, Olive heard her lady’s tone and seemed to realize she’d allowed her mouth to get away with her. Her head dipped in false contrition, her manner suddenly much more composed.

“No, of course not, Milady. Please forgive me, I meant no offense.”

Ana as usual followed Olive’s lead. She dipped her head and apologized too. The two maids scurried to the door to do their Mistress’ bidding, but it had not even closed behind them before Walda heard their unhappy voices.

She would really need to do something about that. But right now…

“Reek… Lamb…” She stepped up beside him and carefully lay a hand on his filthy head. He tensed when she touched him but didn’t pull away.

“Freak Reek… Bad boy… Sorry...”

“Not bad… My maids,” Walda sighed. _They’re the bad ones._ “They’ve gone now.”

Running fingers lightly over the coarse, greasy strands she was struck by how thin and brittle Reek’s hair really was. And it was so dirty, had she not seen him clean that once at Ramsay’s wedding, she wouldn’t have been able to imagine its original color.

”Come on. It’s alright. Just you and me here. Let’s get you into that tub now.”

At this Reek shivered anew, but he lifted his head.  His eyes, so large and frightened, only made her feel worse for what had just happened.

“Bath still?”

He wasn’t crying, but something in the timid tone of his question caused Walda’s milk to surge again. She wondered if Reek could smell the sweetness of it above his own stink. As soon as she got him settled she was going to have to change her dress.

“Yes, Dear, you need it badly.”

“Ramsay’s reeking Reek...” Reek dropped his head. “Roose’s Ramsay,” he reminded himself. After all, he’d lost the game by agreeing in the first place. And losing always had consequences. This was one of the very first lessons his master had taught him.

With trembling hands he set his shirt aside. Keeping his head down, eyes averted, he caught the loose waist of his ragged pants. Hissing at the pain in his hands and on the scalded skin of his side, without standing, he began to slowly push his trousers down over his bony hips.

* * *

A short time later, Walda sat tub-side on a too-small stool behind Reek. The water in the basin was almost black and she was cursing Anna’s tardiness. If the girl didn’t show up soon, she’d have to get Reek out and call this preliminary wash good.

Reek sat still before her, trembling either with fear or with chill. It was difficult to tell. Walda bit her lip as she dipped the cloth into the dirty water. Never had she seen anyone so skinny, the poor boy had to have been starving for months. Her eyes traveled over the curve of his spine. Every vertebrae was visible, like a strand of pearls, stretched taut beneath scarried shell of his skin.

She’d done her best to clean him, but it was obvious the dirt had become so ingrained it was going to take several washes and some hard scrubbing to fully remove the stain of his filth. But as the dirt had come away, Walda had become increasingly cautious, realizing it would be some time before his tortured skin would endure that.

Reaching out, she anticipated the jump when the wet cloth made contact. Rubbing gently over half-healed wounds, she was careful of the bright red of his burns and the newly purpling pools on too-visible ribs where Ramsay's ruffians had kicked him. If it hurt, outside the initial flinching, Reek didn’t show it. Once he’d crawled into the tub he’d fallen completely silent and outside his soft shivers, remarkably still.

It was concerning.

More worrisome, however, seeing Reek revealed as he was, Walda no longer held any wonder at what had happened to create the creature sitting just under her hand.

Never had she seen more deliberate cruelty. The boy's body was a map of pain. Welts and cuts, old and recent, marked longitude and latitude over continents of mottled bruises. Marks covered his back, carrying down his buttocks to his upper thighs. It seemed the was barely an inch of him that hadn’t been damaged. His front was not much better.

In fact, Walda brought her free hand to her mouth to cover the light sob that threatened to spill out, his front was far worse.

Unable to walk, he’d literally crawled to the tub and when Reek had raised himself to clamber in, she'd seen it… Or more accurately, what was left. The atrocity Olive had mentioned.

She hadn’t seen many cock’s in her sheltered life, but she imagined Reek’s had been impressive in its fullness.

But now...

It hadn’t been cut down to it’s quick, but his penis had been clearly severed.  What remained was twisted and truncated, its thick stub had been sewn closed to an awkward point. There was a slit in the tip, freshly scabbed and angry looking. She wondered how it was the boy was even able to piss.

It was terrible, but even worse than this, it was purposeful. All of Reek’s sufferings were: deliberate, meted, measured. And seeing this, Walda could no longer deny that her stepson was truly a monster in the strictest sense of the word.

She'd been warned, of course. Rumors found their way to her early, not long after she’d learned of her marriage to Roose. She’d heard more when she’d arrived but had somehow convinced herself to deny it. After all, Ramsay had always been pleasant to her face. Well, relatively. His barbs subtle or well-couched, his aggression carefully restricted.

But now she understood even more why her husband had sent her and their son away. Tears filled her eyes as she studied Reek again, the cloth moving over him.

He had been someone’s son. Was still perhaps.

The idea of her offspring suffering like this, of any woman’s child. She couldn’t bear it.

Fear twisted deep in her low belly. She wanted a family of her own, always had. Having lost her first child, she’d already determined she’d soon be with her second. But knowing what she did now...

As long a Ramsay lived and reigned beneath her husband at Dreadfort, Walda understood too clearly that she and any of her unborn were in terrible danger. She also now understood the significance of her act of mercy.

She shivered and Olive’s words returned to her.

_He punishes the boy if he’s not dirty enough. Hunted those who’ve tried to clean him, too._

Once Ramsay found out she’d not just cleaned his “pet,” but that she’d stolen him, Walda wondered what his wrath would look like. Another sweep of her eyes over the huddled boy in the basin and she realized, despite her fears, her terror of what her stepson might be driven to do, even so, she had no intention of returning Reek to him.

Ever.

Not if she could help it.

The creak of the door made her jump. Reek whimpered and winced under her hand. Heart pounding within her aching chest, Walda looked up and breathed a deep sigh of relief seeing it was only Eyre. The maester entered behind her.

She rose from the stool as Reek seemed to cringe lower.

“I was told you had an emergency, Milady?” The maester stared down at her. Although his words were respectful, his expression was put out.

Eyre moved over quietly and Walda blessed her as she passed her not just a clean shift, but several soft cloths obviously meant to dry her new ward.

She gestured to the tub. “He’s been scalded. He was attacked in the hall and doused with a bucket of boiling water.”

The maester seemed unimpressed and hardly interested. He exhaled an annoyed sigh and stepped over to the tub. Looking down at the huddled figure below him immersed in the dark water, he shook his head and clucked his tongue.

“You washed him?”

“I thought it best. In case he blistered. His skin was so dirty.”

Dark brows furrowed. “It might have been far better for his health, in the long run, if you’d simply left him as he was found.”

Knowing what she did now, Walda’s cheeks flushed at this. But the physician wasn’t looking at her, he continued to stare down at Reek.

“Alright, you. Get up and let me take a look.” When the creature in the tub didn’t respond immediately, the man gave the side of the basin a light kick. “Come on now, you’ve troubled Lady Bolton far more than you ever should have! Don’t add me to that list as well.”

Reek had been sitting silently, his gaze fixed on the water in front of him. He still had the handkerchief Lady Bolton had given him. He’d carried it in with him unconsciously and had almost seized from fear when he’d realized he’d brought it into the water. However, the lady had been more than merciful when she saw this and had even told him he could keep it.

He’d tried to subtly wash it at first, thinking he’d clean it and then offer it back, but its once pristine weave was now gray, stained by his filth. Soiled by proximity, as most everything he came in contact with seemed to become nowadays.

Knowing he could never return it in this state, he’d kept it. It floated before him, his hand underneath it, supporting. The way it was suspended was reminding him of many things. Memories he knew were not his own: storm-dropped sails on black waves, spring petals lightly tossed into a creek while _not him_ sat beside a more beautiful female flower.

The kick to the tub brought Reek back to the present. He knew that voice, heard the command in it. Without thinking, he climbed weakly out of the tub, leaving the kerchief behind where it quickly became weighted and sank below the water’s dark surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading.


	5. Resolutions

After all those hours of kneeling, Reek’s knees and hips wouldn’t support him now. He sat crumpled and dripping at the physician’s feet.

“Get up! I need to have a look at you.”

Walda didn’t understand the reason for the maester’s tone. Stepping over to the downed boy, she settled one of the cloths Eyre had brought atop Reek’s trembling shoulders.

“I don’t think he’s able to stand.”

This comment earned her a harsh snort from flared nostrils. The way the old man stared at her made Walda quail inside, and she was acutely aware of her disheveled state.

“Nonsense!” The maester’s declaration dropped into a mumble. ”I’ve seen it in far worse states and it’s managed fine.”

Setting his satchel down, he exchanged his grip on his medical kit for Reek’s angular jaw. “Tricking Lady Bolton into coddling you. I imagine your master is going to be sincerely displeased.”

Reek winced at the sharp sting of the hand holding him so close to his burned neck and pulling up on his chin. But it was the mention of Ramsay’s possible displeasure that actually made him whimper.

Joints screaming, he mustered all his reserves and struggled to stand. He was stunned to feel small hands assisting him as he staggered to his feet. Another clean cloth wrapped around his waist before he even had time to clap his damaged hands over his groin to hide his lack.

It appalled Walda, the way the maester spoke of Reek as something inhuman. But it was clear the man was used to talking about him as an “it,” not a person. Not only that, but he’d clearly dismissed her too.

That simply wouldn’t do.

“He really is suffering.  You should be kinder to him.”

At her admonishment both Reek and the physician stiffened simultaneously.

“Sorry…” Reek glanced timidly at Lady Walda, his eyes stung from pain, but the tears that welled were more the result of her advocacy. Like the maester, most knew better than to trouble themselves on his behalf, if not for his lack of worth, at least for their own safety.

He worried dreadfully about what would happen to the lady and him both, once his master found out what she… what _they’d_ done. He dipped his head as much as the hand still on his jaw would allow.

“I…

“Sorry... Reek’s okay… Okay… Good boy.. Thank you, Miss…”

The doctor frowned, eyes darting back and forth between both lady and pet before he returned his gaze to Reek. He dropped his hand and swept an appraising look over the youth’s body.

Walda’s breath hitched when the man grabbed the towel around Reek’s waist and roughly pulled it off. Beside her, Eyre clapped her hand over her own mouth to keep from exclaiming at her first exposure to Reek’s damage.

Hands with too few fingers fluttered to cover, but the maester slapped them away.

“Yes… it’s got some burns.” Reek’s left side was angry red at intervals from calf to throat. “There’s a few spots that look blistered.” He seized one of Reek’s hands, making him yelp. “These are rather boiled. They should probably be wrapped. Might lose another finger or two otherwise.

"Might anyways.”

Reek’s wet head dropped at this, stringy hair covering his face, but it was clear these words had set him sobbing.

“I’ll inform Lord Ramsay, as it sounds he’s unaware. He’ll advise me on how he’d like to proceed.”

Looking over to where Reek’s discarded rags lay, the maester wrinkled his nose at the filth of them atop the relatively pristine blanket. “Get yourself decent… Well, as decent as something like you can get. You’re in the presence of ladies!” With a shove that sent Reek stumbling back to his knees, he urged him on in the direction of his clothes.

Watching Reek right himself, the man shot Walda an insincere smile. His voice was ripe with condescension, “I’ll take it off your hands, Milady, and deliver it back to its master.”

“What do you mean?” Momentarily frozen witnessing this callous treatment, Walda now slipped over to Reek as he crawled towards his rags. She stilled him with a gentle hand upon one of his shoulders. Slipping the still-clinging cloth from these down to cover his bare hindquarters she felt the body under her palm blush.

Though her short, round form was nothing in comparison to the lean height of the looming maester, she drew herself up. “He's is staying right here. Reek’s not returning to my stepson any time soon.”

Clearing her throat and hoping her voice didn’t squeak, she tried to do her best to affect a courtly tone. “And you need to minister to him now.”

The doctor’s eyes widened at her sudden mettle. A true grin, one far from pleasant, flickered upon his lips before they returned to their usual solemn smirk.

“Do you think that these are truly wise decisions, Milady? I imagine Lord Ramsay will be most unhappy when he finds you’ve interfered with his pet.” There was no doubting the threat in his tone.

It was obvious Reek heard it too as he began to quake. “Can go… Reek will go. Good lady, p-please… Sorry. Sorry. Good boy, Reek. No troubles…”

There was such urgency in Reek’s “good lady.” If he had not caught Walda’s heart before, he certainly had it now. Hearing him beg her to release him back to his monstrous master, she understood too clearly that he was doing this not merely to avoid more troubles himself, but to protect her.

As broken as he was, the poor boy was showing her more concern than almost anyone else had bothered since she’d first arrived at Dreadfort.

“No, Lamb… It’s no trouble. None at all.”

Though she didn’t believe this, bolstered by Reek’s selflessness, Walda met the maester’s waiting gaze evenly. “I’m resolved in my decisions, Sir. Please attend Reek now.”

It was clear this was not the response the physician anticipated. He scowled. He’d been looking forward to returning Reek to Ramsay's chambers. Despite the boy’s broken teeth, he really had a most talented mouth and it had been almost a week since he’d been afforded the opportunity to use it.

This loss irritated him. As a result, he decided to humiliate both Ramsay’s dog and Lord Bolton’s upstart broodmare.

“All right then.” Moving forward with a speed that belied his years, the man darted forward and grabbed Reek’s unburned arm.  

With this act, Reek lost the second towel he’d been covered with, but he was hardly conscious of this. His head ached with dread and his body hurt so badly. Pulled sharply to his feet, his limbs forced to move in ways they didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but screech. Seeing how round Lady Bolton’s eyes became, however, he bit off the sound and began muttering “Sorry.”

It wasn’t so much the noise that caused Walda’s reaction, as it was seeing Reek so roughly handled. In his condition she would have surely cried out herself, would have still been screaming, she thought, rather than sobbing wild apologies.

“Stop! You’re hurting him!..” Her words trailed off  in confusion as the maester hauled Reek over to one of the room’s low sofas and pushed him down, bending him over the fat padded arm of the couch.

“Oh, it will live. I guarantee you that… _At least until your master lays hands on you again_.” This second part was mumbled softly enough only Reek could hear it. The words had their desired effect, making the boy flail his limbs in desperation, giving the physician reason to deliver a sharp slap to his ass.

It only took the one blow, much to the maester’s disappointment, for Reek's struggles to instantly cease, his only movement the shudders of his quiet crying.

Ignoring both Ramsay’s pet’s pathetic whimpers and lady Bolton’s sputtering, the older man sighed as though mightily put upon. “At your insistence, Milady, I’ll wrap the worst of it, slather the rest in ointment.

“It will take some time and though its hands are somewhat worrisome, as long as the blisters stay clear of infection, it’ll be fine.” Then he added, "Since I’m here, I suppose I should check on its other injuries too.”

When he placed a hand on each of Reek’s scarred ass cheeks and began to press them apart, even Reek’s trembling stopped, the boy going immediately still as a stone.

“Wha.. What do you think you’re doing?!”

The horror on Lady Bolton’s face pleased the maester immensely. Below him too, Ramsay’s pet’s unburned hide was now almost as red as the rest of him.

“Checking its stitches, of course. I just sewed it up last week. ”

Hearing both Walda and her maid Eyre gasp, the maester knew he was treading dangerous ground, but he’d served both Bolton men for years and felt confident they’d back his actions.

“Despite his present color, this is no blushing virgin you’ve taken in, Milady.

 _"Reek,”_ He spit the name out as though it was spoiled, “has long been known for having a remarkable hole and it entertains his master to make use of it. But, I’m afraid, even such an accomplished orifice has limits to the things that can be put in it without damage.”

“The stitches are due to be pulled in a few days. Since you’ve taken such an interest in the healing of Lord Ramsay’s pet, would you like to see them?

"In the interim, until they’re removed, I can give you a paste to accelerate healing. You can personally apply it, if you’re inclined.”

This time it wasn’t Walda who spoke but Eyre who jumped in, finding her voice first. “How dare you speak so indecorously to my mistress, Sir!”

The physician leveled a stony stare at the maid. “Indecorous?” His voice was smug. “I am merely informing Lady Bolton in the care of this creature, should she remain determined to keep it.”

Thankfully before the situation could get any more fraught, Anna opened the chambers’ door and was soon bumping into the room at last with her bucket of fresh water. At the scene that met her, however, her eyes popped, and she nearly dropped it.

“You’re late!” Walda scolded, displacing her anger, though secretly she blessed the gods for the distraction. “Never mind... Take that bucket into the nursery. I’ll join you there in a moment.”

It was clear Anna had no idea what to make of Reek bent over the arm of the couch as he was, the maester behind him. Fortunately, without Olive there to influence her, rather than say anything, she merely dipped her head. Blushing furiously she darted into the empty nursery.

“Eyre, will you fetch me a new dress. I’m going to refresh myself while the maester attends Reek.” She passed back the shift her maid had given her earlier.

“Of course, Milady. I think that’s wise. You shouldn’t have to see this.” Eyre refused to cow to the physician’s gloating. “I’ll deliver it to you in just a moment. Then I’ll come back here to make sure that your ‘guest’ is properly attended to.”

“Thank you, Eyre.” Walda’s words were sincere. Eyre had been with her for years and this wasn’t the first time she had proven herself faithful. Although Roose kept a tight rein on all things material, as she slipped into her lost son’s room and closed the door behind her Walda resolved to find someway to reward the woman’s loyalty.

Walda emerged a short time later. She’d used the water Anna had brought to clean herself. Before doing so, however, she’d made sure to express some of her breasts’ burden. Ache diminished and dressed in a fresh frock, the front filled discreetly with folded cloths in case she leaked again, she felt renewed and much more ready to take on the maester now.

A small pang of guilt pricked her chest at leaving Eyre to deal with the man, but she had confidence in her maid. She was not surprised then to re-renter the main space of her chambers and find Eyre arguing with the doctor. The maester stood over both Eyre and Reek glowering down on them.

Reek was huddled, naked, on the floor beside the couch. Head down, hands wrapped. His middle was sleeved with gauze too. As were his neck and his left thigh. Even as she argued, ever efficient, Eyre was crouched beside Reek, trying to get him to lift his arms into the shift.

“What’s going on here?”

“This idiot refuses to give the boy anything for his pain, Milady!”

Before the soft cotton gown hid him, Walda noted how pale Reek was now, wherever he wasn’t burnt or bruised. The trauma of the day had taken full hold of him and she had no doubt that if he looked up his face would be ashen.

“Why not?” she demanded fixing the maester with her steeliest stare.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed at the stridence of her tone. While it was clear from the hectic spots above his beardline and the colored tips of his ears he was furious, his own voice was carefully measured.

“Lord Ramsay forbids it.”

Once again Walda was struck by how clearly her stepson wanted Reek to suffer. For the life of her she couldn’t understand what the boy had done to deserve this. Not that it mattered. Whatever his offense, Reek had clearly paid for it a dozen times over.

It was time for a reprieve.

“Well, Lord Ramsay’s not here at the moment and I am. You’ll give this poor lamb some milk of the poppy and leave enough for me to dose him later. Then, if you’ve finished your salving and wrapping, I’m sure you have other _patients_ to attend to.”

The color bloomed brighter on the physician’s face, but his lips pressed together so tightly they grew white.

“I fear you’re being very foolish, Milady.”

“Only if mercy is foolish, Sir.” The words snapped out of Walda’s mouth without thought.

The maester's expression was unimpressed. “Very well.”

Without another word he retrieved a vial from his kit. After slicking two fingers with the tincture, he took up Reek’s bangs with the other hand and forced his head back. Reek had been lost in a haze of pain, but the pull to his scalp roused him. He whimpered when his blue eyes focused at last on the maester’s dark expression.

“Open!”

There was no hesitation, Reek knew this command by heart. It had been beaten into him so thoroughly it was an automatic response, his eyes closed, jaw unhinging before his brain even fully processed the word.

Syrup, bittersweet, hit his tongue. He knew this taste. Blue eyes shot open in disbelief.  Unaware of how he looked, Reek moaned around the physician’s fingers in abject gratitude as he ravenously suckled, drawing the opiate down into him, frantic for relief.

The maester  kept his fingers in the boy’s mouth far longer than was necessary, forcing Walda and her maid to watch the vulgar display. However, he found this act didn’t have the result he’d intended. The looks of disgust on the women’s faces were not directed at Ramsay’s creature, but at him.

“Enough.”

Once again at this single word command, Reek immediately stilled. He held the fingers in his mouth until they were slipped out.

Uncomfortably hard under his robes from the sensation of having his digits sucked, the maester quickly gathered his things. He pressed the vial of pain medicine into Walda’s hand, making sure to graze her skin with his sodden fingers.

Although she felt the slick of Reek’s spit, she didn’t pull away. Nor did she acknowledge watching Reek's suckling had called forth her milk again. Instead, Walda kept her face blank despite her revulsion at the man standing before her.

“Thank you for your _assistance_ , I’ll send for you if your services are further needed.”

“Of course, Milady. In the meantime, I’ll be sure to inform Lord Ramsay of his pet’s whereabouts. Otherwise he’ll be  distressed to find it missing.”

“Yes, please do.” Walda matched his cool tone, though her heart was wild within her chest at the thought. “I appreciate your concern for my stepson.” She waved a pudgy hand in Reek’s direction. “I’d tell him myself, but I am going to be busy. As you might imagine.”

“Only happy to serve you Milady.” The doctor drifted towards the door. “I’m sure Lord Ramsay will want to come thank you personally for looking after his interests.”

Before she could respond to this, the door opened and Olive appeared bearing a tray with the requested broth and bread. She stepped aside as the maester let himself out. Walda watched the maid bring the food over and set it on a low table before the couch. Before Olive could cause any trouble, Walda gave her an order.

“Thank you, Olive. Would you and Anna please carry the tub out and empty it.” She nodded over to Reek’s rags. “Take those with you too and dispose of them.”

The maids exchanged conspiratorial glances. Walda imagined normally they might have kicked up a fuss at these directions, but she’d no doubt the pair were anxious to get out of earshot to catch each other up.

With only a nod, Olive went and grabbed Reek’s clothes. She tossed these into the tub. Then with a bit of struggle, she and Anna lifted the basin between them and hauled it out of the room leaving a few scattered puddles behind..

No sooner had they left than Walda joined Eyre down at Reek’s side. Eyre’s dark eyes met her own.

“I think it might be wise for me to go bolt the doors Mistress, both the one to the corridor and the one to your husband’s chambers.”

Walda bit her lip, and nodded, grateful again for Eyre’s attendance.

While Eyre did her best to secure them, Walda gently caught Reek’s chin with a single finger and gently encouraged the boy’s bowed head up.

“Reek?”

Wide blue eyes flickered up. It was obvious the poppy was working already. For the first time since she’d met him, Reek’s face was free from its terrible terror. The boy blinked slowly, his expression dreamy.

Without their burden of fear, Walda was struck by how beautiful his eyes actually were. Reek meanwhile, was beside himself, the waves of pounding pain receding at last.

“Thank you… Thank you… Milady… Thank you…”

“Shhhhh now, Lamb.”

Reek minded, but really only quieted to drop his head and nuzzle his thanks into Walda’s open palm. The gesture was so pure and creaturely it made her heart ache just as much as it made her blush.

Behind her, she could hear Eyre spreading a comforter over the couch. A moment later, Walda gently pulled her hand away and moved back and up onto the seat of the sofa. It seemed to take Reek some time to realize her hand was gone. He began to look for it, his eyes now heavy-lidded as the flower’s syrup pulled him deeper under its spell.

“Why don’t you come up here and settle in for a rest?” Patting the cushion alongside her, Walda smiled at Reek encouragingly.

Reek shook his muzzy head. “Not up… Only floor for Reek, unless fuck..” He gave a weary sigh. “No sleep… no rest… Bad boy…”

Though the maester had clearly spelled out aspects of Reek’s use by her stepson, it still shocked Walda to hear it. Especially from Reek. At the same time, it was clear that under the drug’s influence, the boy barely knew what he was saying.

Eyre had gone over to the hearth to light a fire. When Walda noted Reek shivering as well, she patted the blanketed spot beside her again. “You’re not bad. You’re a good boy, Reek. And remember…. “

“Ramsay’s Reek, Roose’s Ramsay…” Reek finished for her, his words slow and lightly slurred.

“Yes. Clever you. I knew it.” Walda gave the cushion one final pat. “So, come up here, Lamb. Mind your mistress.”

Nodding as though his head was exceedingly heavy, Reek, shuffled over on all fours and clambered onto the couch in a way that was remarkably puppy-like. Once he’d pulled himself up, it seemed all the strength left his limbs and he collapsed.

He whimpered automatically when the cushion he was curled up on dipped near his head. Ever since he’d been let out of the dungeon he’d never been allowed more than a minute on any comfortable surface before some sort of molestation started.

He wanted to tense, but his muscles refused to mind him. He was jolted briefly back into sharper consciousness when two pairs of gentle hands began to shift him. He was stunned moments later to find his damp head pillowed on a wonderfully padded thigh.

The open comforter he was lying on was doubled over him, tucked around his shoulders. His always too-cold flesh began to warm. Then a cool hand was on his brow, softly stroking back brittle bangs.

Reek wiggled just a bit and the cushion sighed, nesting him in. The cotton shift was loose and so soft against his skin,

So much comfort… So much. Too much. It overwhelmed and Reek began to cry softly. “Thank you… Thank you…”

“Shhhh...” Gentle fingers traced his eyebrows and Reek’s lids dropped closed.

He fervently wished to die right now… _like this_ … But fate had never been inclined to show him such mercy. Tears continued to slid down his cheeks. He only hoped he would have enough presence to remember this moment when Ramsay got hold of him again,

The hand at his brow shifted. Smooth-tipped fingers stroked his cheek, following the trail of his tears.

“He’ll take me back, and then he’ll hurt me so much more. He’ll hurt both of us…You... Sorry… So sorry… Forgive me…”

To hear such complete speech from someone so broken shocked Walda. Then she realized the drugs must have loosened his tongue even more than earlier. Her stomach clenched at the words, but she pushed her terror aside.

“Shhhh… Reek. Hush, Lamb… Rest.”

As frightened as she was, staring down at the pale face resting atop her thigh, long lashes fluttering as dreams found them, Reek's face suddenly looked ten years younger. While sleep further smoothed his features, Walda realized that since she first encountered him in the hall, she’d not missed her dead babe once.

Her fingers returned to combing through tangled hair. She'd have to be sure and brush it later. Looking up, Walda saw Eyre had taken the chair across from her and was working on her stitching. Embroidery basket beside her, a pair of wicked  shears laid out on the arm of the chair within easy reach.

Walda’s eyes met Eyre’s. Her maid gave her a tight-lipped smile and a slight nod. She smiled back, before dropping her eyes back down to watch Reek sleep. It had been decided then.

Even though she'd no idea how to managed this yet, she’d lost one lamb already this spring.

She was not about to lose another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. And to those generous readers, your comments and kudos make my day so much brighter.
> 
> Next chapter Ramsay will appear... Chapter title: "Confrontations." Should be tense.


	6. Ramifications

The halls echoed with the crash of Ramsay’s boots. Long strides carried him towards his chambers but not fast enough. If it wouldn’t have made him look weak, he would have run. With every strike of his heel against stone a growled curse dropped from his mouth.

“Fuck!... Damn!... Piss!...”

Of all the times to his father could have chosen to involve him and demand he attend a meeting.

Pulse pounding within clenched fists, Ramsay willed the fingers of his blade hand to loosen. As soon as they did, they began twitching again with the desire to gut his sire.

“That buggering, shit-eating, old goat!”

By all that was dark, how he hated him. He’d had plans for today. Games already set in motion when the old bastard intercepted him. And as much as he’d tried to beg out of it, the fucker had been unmoving. All he got for his efforts was yet another toneless lecture about a leader’s responsibilities.

Ramsay had taken cold comfort in his father’s offhand mention the meeting wouldn’t shouldn’t take long. Of course, per usual, Roose Bolton’s words were worth about as much as a fat whore’s flatulence. The negotiations had broken down within the first hour and it had taken almost the entire day to reach an agreement.

“REEK!”

Bellowing the name felt almost as good as profanity. It was about as useless too: even as attuned as the bitch’s ears were to his voice, Ramsay knew he was still too far away for his dog to hear him. He slammed a fist into the wall. His teeth ached from clenching his jaw so hard.

If he’d only known it was going to take so damn long. He would have given Reek a different “task” for the day. As it was, he hadn't even had time to send someone after the idiot.

“Fucking mutt’s so stupid… I bet he’s still at it.”

The words sounded convicted, but within him, his mind was torn. On the one hand, it would please him immensely- if the former Greyjoy actually tortured himself to the extent of losing what remained of his fingers, completing a task simply because he had ordered it.  

At the same time, he’d come to derive tremendous satisfaction from the feel of his cock being stroked by his pet’s altered grip. Ramsay seethed considering the possible loss. Not to mention, he’d already determined how he was going to eventually take _all_ of Reek’s digits and it was infuriating to consider Reek’s obedience might steal this much anticipated pleasure: the slow whittling of his pet into perfection.

Then again, there was always the possibility his Kraken whore was fine… _Or as fine as he ever was anyway._ Possibly Reek had passed out from the pain and not damaged himself too extensively. The little shit was always fainting these days it seemed.

Ramsay’s mind flashed to image of his pet unconscious, lying on the damp stone. It made his toes itch within his boots with the impulse to kick.

Or maybe his bitch had given up; had been sitting in the hall for hours. Reek's terror building as he imagined his master’s anger, the punishment he would receive for failing. At the sight of his owner the beaten dog would fall all over himself, crawling, bawling, and begging for forgiveness.

Now Ramsay’s lips twitched, quirking into the barest of smiles. Fuck, but that would be the ideal solution: Reek less wounded and ready to be whipped bloody. Yes, that would be it. Ramsay’s hands relaxed at last, slipping down to his belt to pull it from its loops. Once freed, he wrapped the thick leather around his hand, making ready.

He was halfway up the stairs to his landing, well within hearing distance now, when he called out, “REEK!” again. Ears straining for the scrabbling of wounded limbs, Ramsay crested the stairs.

There was nothing.

“Nothing,” being a maid he didn’t recognize, down on her knees scrubbing the stones. The sight stopped him short. The girl stopped her cleaning, cringing away at his shout.

Of all the things he’d imagined... This. Was. Not. It.

“Where is he?!”

Without waiting for an answer, he stormed past the serving girl, gawping like a carp in her fright. The heavy door to his room flew open. It hit the wall with a “crack” as he raged in.

“REEK!”

Never in a hundred years did Ramsay imagine his curr would be so unfaithful. Black spots swarmed at the edges of his vision. More doors slammed, furniture was upended. Dropping hard to his knees, Ramsay dipped to peer beneath his bed.

So prepared to see those huge, pale eyes, find his pet, belly pressed to the floor, shaking, he spent several seconds blinking in disbelief. When it finally hit him Reek was not there, he hurled himself up from his knees and rushed back into the hall.

The maid was scrambling to gather her things and make a quick getaway. Ramsay was on her in an instant. Seizing her loose blouse he hauled her to her feet. Any other time he would have paused to savor the wideness of her eyes, the way her pale breasts heaved, made visible where her shirt had torn.

“S….sssir?” He hadn’t even slapped the cunt yet and she was already crying.

“WHERE IS HE?!”

“I… I was j… just told to come and clean… Mi-milord.”

“BY WHO?!”

“A… a m-man, sire.”

There was a piercing scream when Ramsay released her, drawing back far enough to land a blow with the belt still wrapped loosely around his hand. The maid dropped to the floor, pink fingers pressed to her cheek where the leather landed and laid it open.

“TELL ME WHO IT WAS!”

He was confident it wasn’t Reek who’d given the order. After all, the bitch had said it was a ‘man,’ and even one as brainless as this cunt appeared to be would be unlikely to make such a mistake. Regardless of his earlier concerns, whoever it was, he was going to lose more than skin for meddling in his business.

The girl was crying so hard she couldn’t speak until Ramsay drew his arm back again as if to strike. Suddenly she found her tongue, shrieking, “I… I don’t know Mi-milord! I’m from the village, I’ve just come to the Fort three days ago…

Her eyes flickered up to his raise hand, still poised to deliver a blow.“I don’t know his name! He was tall! Long hair!”  She clutched her purpling cheek tighter. “He… he had a whip… coiled at his belt…

“Please, sire!”

 _Damon…_ Ramsay allowed his arm to fall. He’d permitted Damon some liberties with his pet in the past, but he never thought the man would be so stupid.

“Right.” He stared down at the weeping girl. Cheek still bleeding badly, the blood had run down her arms and was dripping on the floor. “Better clean this mess up.”

Rocking back and forth, the maid sniffled, “Y-yes, Mi-lord.”

Ramsay had just started down the stairs when he turned and looked back. He grinned as the bloody maid cringed backwards.

“Oh, and by the way… Welcome to Dreadfort.”

* * *

Drawing the maid’s blood had taken the edge of Ramsay’s ire momentarily, but it was burning bright again by the time he caught up with Damon. He burst into the kennels ignoring the cacophony of his girls’ braying.

Eyes swept over the cages on the off chance his favorite bitch was there.

_Empty._

Damon caught sight of him the moment he’d pushed through the kennel’s door and jumped up from the stool where he’d been sitting next to Ben.

“Leaving so quickly, Damon?” Ramsay charged forward as the other man froze. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to avoid me….” His hand dropped to the knife in its scabbard at his hip. “That might hurt my feelings.”

“Milord…” Hands raised, Damon suddenly moved in reverse, backing up as Ramsay continued to advance. There was a feral fury in his eyes Damon had never had directed at him before. Ben saw it too and pushed out of his own chair, beating a hasty retreat towards his quarters.

Ramsay paid no heed to the hound keeper’s retreat. He stared at Damon, wild eyes unblinking as he closed in.

“WHERE IS HE?”

Dropping his voice to a normal tone, which made it all the more horrifying, Ramsay cocked his head to the side. “You know, I don’t always treat my things with the best care, but they are MY things.” He drew his knife. “And I don’t appreciate people interfering with them.”

In his haste to avoid Ramsay’s blade, Damon’s heavy boots caught, one against the other, and he toppled over. He scuttled crab-like until he’d backed himself into a wall. Seeing he had no escape now he began to babble.

“Honestly Ramsay, it was an accident! I didn’t know the water was that hot. And who would have thought that cow would be out roaming the halls anyway?”

The words caught Ramsay off guard, stopping him short. This was not what he’d expected to hear from Damon at all.

“What…” The word wasn’t issued as a question but a demand.

Skinner and me… We found him in the hall. Cleaning and crying like maid.” Damon spoke as fast as he could before Ramsay snapped, hoping he could come up with something that would keep his fingers and toes intact.

“He was being such a little bitch about things, me and Skinner decided to have some fun with him. You know… Not trying to infringe on you at all Ramsay… Promise. Just pulling his leash a bit.”

“He was making such a mess… You know how worthless he is…”

Ramsay hummed letting Damon know he was listening but the tone wasn’t encouraging.

“Skinner was the one what picked up the bucket of water and threw it on him.” Damon left out he was the one who told Skinner to do it. “Like I said, Milord… I didn’t have no clue it was so hot.

“Reek squalled like a hare in a trap when it hit him. And that’s when she came…”

Ramsay’s heart had seized in his chest, hearing Reek had been scalded. But he was too caught up in what Damon was telling him to try and suss out whether it was pain or pleasure he felt at the words.

“Who’s SHE?” Stepping up between Damon’s spread thighs, Ramsay lifted his boot over his crotch, making sure Damon understood if he didn’t get on with his tale, it wasn’t just a finger he’d be grieving tonight.

“Roose’s cow… Walda…”

Ramsay’s brow dipped and then rose at the news.

“She came waddling down the hall and saw us. She was on her own. Pitched a fit too!” Damon swallowed hard, hope welling in his chest. Ramsay’s mind was shifting gears and it was visible on his face.

“She made me go get the Maester. Made Skinner haul Reek’s stinking ass to her quarters of all places.”

“WHAT?”

Ramsay stepped back, he needed room to pace. Damon didn’t waste any time and immediately threw the equivalent of verbal oil on his lord’s building fire.

“One of the maids told me after, Walda made them fetch a tub and water. That your stepmother gave Reek a bath. Bathed the bitch herself.”

Damon sucked in a breath. He'd never seen Ramsay's face that particular color of purple. For a moment his thought his death was certain. But Ramsay turned away from him. The sight of their master whipped the girls back into a frenzy. They began pressing into the bars of their runs, begging to be loosed.

“I am going to kill THAT CUNT!”

Spittle flew at this exclamation and the kennel fell completely silent.

Ramsay gave Damon a signal to follow him as he stormed out of the hound’s hall. Damon heaved a breath of relief and rose on weak legs to follow. He'd escaped Ramsay's wrath but there was not telling how long this might last.

* * *

Consciousness pulled Reek back up to its surface, but so gently it felt like he was still in a dream.

His aches were the first thing to register. He hurt, but then he always hurt these days. Only this wasn’t the sharp, tooth-filled pain he was used to. It was muffled somehow.

At least until he moved. Then the pain lunged forward and nipped him good. Reek moaned softly.

A small hand stroked through his hair. Reek froze, body immediately stiffening at the touch.

“Easy, there, Lamb.”

At the soft voice, blue eyes shot open. It seemed the lifting of his lids triggered something in him, because suddenly his entire body was overwhelmed with sensation.

He hurt yes, but he was clean, he was warm. The room surrounding him was far, far from the kennel or his master’s quarters. In another second, he realized to his horror too that he was settled on a couch. Cushioned with fresh, soft blankets wrapped around him and even more appalling, a silk gowned thigh beneath his head.

In an instant all his limbs were in a flurry. Unable to extricate himself from the blankets, he still managed to somehow flail his way down to the floor. He tried not to cry, but his terror was overwhelming, not to mention he’d managed to jar the lion of his pain fully back to roaring.

“Bad… Bad Reek,” he whimpered. “Sneak Reek.” Why had he done something so stupid? What could have possessed him? His master wouldn’t be satisfied with just one finger if he saw him in this state.

He brought his hands to his head to tear at his hair in self-punishment. He stopped puzzled, when he saw them, bound and wrapped in mittens of cloth.

“Reek… Reek… Dear…”

The frantic voice calling him managed to break the spell of his discovery. He looked up to Walda staring at him, her dark eyes round with concern.

“Did you have a bad dream, Reek?”

Reek blinked. His life was a bad dream. And this… Memories of what had happened began to reveal themselves, parting through the haze of his mind.

 _Ramsay’s Reek, Roose’s Ramsay._ His Master’s Master’s lady had him. A shudder of relief wracked his thin frame. Ramsay wasn't here.

_Yet._

Above him Walda’s manicured brows were furrowed. “Are you hurting, Dear? Do you need some more medicine.”

His eyes darted to the bottle she’d picked up. He knew what it was. “Weak, Reek…” he whispered. He wanted the poppy, yes, but Ramsay didn’t allow it. He flinched back when Walda reached out for him but then forced himself to still as she pushed brittle bangs out of his eyes.

“You’re not weak, Lamb… You’re hurt. And we need to keep on top of that pain.” She heaved a sad sigh. “Though I don’t imagine falling off the couch like that did you any favors.”

She patted the cushion next to her. “Why don’t you climb back up here, and we’ll get you settled again?”

Reek was about to protest, to tell Roose’s lady, 'dogs don’t belong on the furniture,' but it died on his lips, when behind him the door to the room groaned as a great weight was hurled against it and he heard his master’s voice roar behind the thick planks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what I did with that title there... Pretty pleased with myself. But then again... Simple minds, simple pleasures.
> 
> Anyway. 2016 was pretty bleak for me and I'm trying to get this new year of to a better start. Finishing my fics is part of this. I'm hoping by Feb, to be able to begin updating regularly again. Until then thanks for hanging in with me.
> 
> Happy new year and happy reading. Here's hoping 2017 is kinder to us all.


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